Sweet Action

Dull yellow summer strife
weeds buttered dry by sun
whistled by autumn wind
shrouded now in white
falling snow,
look up at me as they bend
sharply swaying, but
not breaking in the early
morning light.

Scent of the brewery
invades my algorithmic,
Roman nose-
rotten stench too hoppy;
Sweet Action, baby.
I prefer a Cotes de Rhone,
slithering its way within
my many faces…

Not but one here, soft
crunch of the walk past
stray cat and big man footsteps.
I have missed too many mornings
in my town. In lieu of the
blackmail of survival one calls work.

Blow up the bank,
winner takes all.
Rev up the motor and let my thigh,
in a summer dress
bound through the high-cut slit.
only to free me from the street:
steps,
past, toward
buses trains walkways;
The thin heel of my shoe slams the gas
:forward:

~ M. Lucia